


effect/affect

by hydraxx



Series: wordplay [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6409441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydraxx/pseuds/hydraxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter rouses Hamilton's passions.</p><p>(The events of impression/expression, retold from Hamilton's perspective.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> effect (v): cause to happen; bring about.
> 
> affect (n): emotion or desire, especially as influencing behavior or action.
> 
> September-December 1777.

Surrounded by the energetic crowd, Hamilton felt like a precocious collegian again. Their enthusiasm at every point contributed to his intoxication as much as the rapidly dwindling glass of wine in his hand.

“And furthermore!” he cried. “The taxes we pay, for tax we must, will never see the inside of a king’s coffer ever again, but will return directly to the people of these American states!” An incoherent shout rose and Hamilton grinned.

He ignored Harrison’s withering looks from the bar and continued to lay out for these patriots his economic reasoning for American independence from Britain. When he began tearing down the institution of aristocracy, however, he found his fellow aide Harrison at his elbow demanding that he remove himself from public attention.

“You are an aide to His Excellency, Ham,” the older man chided. “We cannot flounce about decrying whatever particular evils strike our fancy.”

“This is hardly fanciful,” Hamilton protested. “It is a patriotic imperative! The citizenry has an obligation to understand and enforce practical measures of securing independence. I am elevating their level of comprehension.”

His friend raised his eyes to the heavens. “Just drink, Hamilton.” Harrison surrendered his own glass of wine and returned to the bar. Alexander sipped but stared after him with narrowed eyes, trying to bore a psychic link into the other man’s head.

“Sir?”

Alexander suddenly realized that the light voice was directed at him. He raised his gaze to meet that of a young man near his own age, beige skin dusted with freckles, dark curls barely tamed by a neat ribbon. “Can I help you?”

The man seemed lost for a moment. “I—ah—I sought to inform you, sir, that that was the most elegantly crafted tavern address that I have had the honor of witnessing.” Almost before he finished the phrase, he was falling toward Hamilton, who reacted on reflex.

There he stood, with a gorgeous man in his arms, and the bottom of his stomach dropped out in the familiar flutterings of attraction. He could not help but smile at the blessings of Providence. He coughed slightly to bring his own consciousness back to the moment at hand, but the sound startled the stranger.

Hamilton extended a hand to stop the man’s retreat.

“Please, join me. I never turn away a man who seeks to compliment my rhetoric.” _They’re usually complimenting different traits by the end of the night… but perhaps this is too much to hope._

As they made themselves comfortable, Alexander blatantly admired his new friend’s bearing. He moved with the well-bred ease of those accustomed to deference in others, but appeared to lack the haughtiness that usually accompanied such an attitude. How fascinating.

Conversation flowed as readily as the liquor. The evening passed with a dreamlike clarity as they dissected their own and each other’s opinions, eventually finding themselves in total agreement on every topic that passed between them. Hamilton knew that he was falling fast for this brilliant man.

To Alexander’s chagrin, as the night wore on the stranger realized the time and moved to leave. His noble grace failed him as he stood, prompting Hamilton to once again save his pretty face from the ill welcome of the tavern floor. The laugh that escaped him made the man smile through embarrassment.

“As much as I relish the grand intercourse of intellect, sir, I fear I must return to my quarters,” he said. “The night has grown older than I realized.”

Hamilton quickly weighed the risks and advantages of pursuing this attraction and found himself offering, perhaps, too much. He rose slowly to offset the clumsiness of drink, trying to hide a hopeful grin.

“If you wish to continue this _intercourse_ … I could perhaps escort you to your quarters.” It was rather a forward attempt, but the heat in his veins would not allow anything else. He excitedly recognized reciprocation in the charming flush that rose to the other man’s cheeks.

“Of course I must accept your offer, if only for safety’s sake. Few but those under the auspices of the army walk unmolested in these streets.”

There was no military discipline in Alexander’s next words. As he moved toward the door, he murmured, “Only those of us who wish to remain so.”

He glanced back at precisely the right moment to see the man’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

 

* * *

 

The entire stroll to the man’s lodgings was peppered with flimsy excuses to jostle their tingling bodies together while Hamilton tried to construct an excuse to extend their time in one another’s company. He was so distracted by the feeling of strong limbs against his own that his faculties of reason remained elusive. Far too soon, the other man guided them into a cramped side street and made for a nearby door.

Alexander’s mind was thrown into chaos. Would he be invited in? How could Hamilton convince this man not to withdraw, but to indulge every desire that coursed through him? He turned toward his new friend, lips bursting with fragmented phrases— _You must know_ — _I cannot let you_ — _This is_ — _We could_ —

Before any word of persuasion or protest could escape, he was suddenly swept up in a fervent kiss. He returned the gesture enthusiastically. The headiness of lust and intoxication raged between them until Hamilton was wrapping his arms around the other man and pressing him back into the brick wall of the alley. He wasted no time in entwining their lips and tongues, eager to know if this sun-kissed man tasted as sweet as he looked.

The contact between them was not enough, never enough. Alexander wanted to be forever entangled with this perfect stranger. As he raised one knee to pin the man to the wall, a raw groan vibrated through his lips and he nearly unraveled.

A noise echoed down the alley and Hamilton was snapped back into reality. Alarm swamped him. Here he was, a poor immigrant, assailing a well-bred son of the colonies. No matter his position on Washington’s staff, prying eyes could have him on a prison boat back to the Indies in an instant. He surveyed the surrounding buildings with a pounding heart, but no further evidence of life presented itself.

No one had seen. No one, no one—“No one,” he whispered, fighting the tang of fear that rose in his throat and looking back to his partner. He surged up to meet the man’s lips again. The remains of his terror were channeled into wild passion for a time, but when that emotion dissipated, he was left drained.

Alexander broke the kiss. As catharsis washed through him, he was struck with the rashness of his actions. This night could have cost him his prestigious position, his potential life in America, all for a quick tryst on a dark street. He was not entirely convinced that even love was worth such humiliation. At least, he realized, he had the consolation that this man could never name him as the perpetrator of an inappropriate encounter, since they hadn’t exchanged proper introductions.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, removing himself from temptation. “I should go.”

He fled, already grieving for his shattered romantic hopes.

 

* * *

 

The aides’ workroom was all but deserted when he returned to the General’s headquarters. A light still shone in Washington’s office, the door ajar. His commander’s voice halted his steps as he passed.

“Hamilton!”

“Yes, sir?”

Washington continued to write while addressing Hamilton. “We have a new man joining the staff shortly, John Laurens. He is recently returned from studies in Europe. His father is a Southern planter, if I recall.”

He paused, but Hamilton could tell that he was not expecting a response. He set aside his quill before looking up at his aide. “He will be lodged with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Hamilton said, nodding. Washington dismissed him.

Instead of returning to his room, Alexander settled back at the worktable he’d left hours before. There were new orders to be transcribed, and the work might occupy his thoughts enough to forget the night’s encounter. He briefly pondered this new addition to Washington’s military family. The son of a planter was sure to be an insufferable companion, especially one running back to America from a cozy European college. Alas, only time would relieve that irritation.

Hamilton worked into the early hours of the morning, vehemently denying the disappointment that tugged at the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALEXANDER, YA DINGUS
> 
> Update: theother51 won this chapter's guessing game.


	2. Chapter 2

Hamilton spent the next several days strung between regretful agony over lost love and premature disdain for John Laurens. His only comfort was the doomed solitude of his bedroom, where for the moment he could revive certain events without fear of interruption. In the languorous humidity of dawn—a dim echo of the climate he’d known in the Caribbean—he sprawled atop a thin blanket, breeches down, and took his own cock in hand.

Infallible memory served him well in these moments. He easily conjured the gentle curves of his mysterious lover’s face, the way light freckles arranged mythic constellations, the tautness of disciplined muscle beneath layers of well-made clothes, even the taste of his tongue laced with alcohol and conversation. A vivid capacity for invention provided other details: firm buttocks under Hamilton’s hands, unbound curls spilling around a face in ecstasy. These fantasies and a firm hand quickly drove Alexander to the edge until he was stifling a cry against the mattress.

He was neatening his uniform when a knock sounded at the door.

“Ham!” Tilghman’s muffled voice called. “New letters from the French have arrived and I am riding out for the day. You had better get started quick.”

Alexander groaned. Translation work was tedious enough; losing the one other Francophone on staff would only multiply his miseries. “I shall be but a moment.” He opened the door in time to catch Tilghman turning away. “Leave some bread at the table for me, won’t you?” The man nodded and started down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

The worktable was dominated by a teetering stack of papers when Hamilton arrived. Tilghman had left some bread and—bless him—a cup of coffee, which Alexander devoured with the knowledge that he would spare little attention for base needs once his work began. The correspondence was just as dull as he had feared: friendly platitudes and delicate promises. A long day stretched before him.

Fortunately, the sweet form of his forfeited lover provided ample diversion. One chamber of his mind ground out translations while another fondly caressed the memory of the beautiful man. Hamilton was not one for lingering regret, but he would dearly love a chance to return to that alley, that embrace, that perfect aspect a mere breath distant from his lips.

Alexander was so immersed in recollection that he toppled the completed translations in surprise when Washington’s voice shattered his reverie. He shuffled the papers together as quickly as he could, setting the disheveled pile in his chair before answering the general’s call. Could there have been a worse moment for disruption? His mind was still whirling with unrealized lust.

He dashed to Washington’s open door.

“Your Excellency. You wanted to see me?”

Hamilton paid no heed to the strange soldier standing before the commander. Plenty of people came and went; he was unlikely to encounter this one again.

“Hamilton, have you met Mr. Laurens?” _Ah, so this was the new aide, the planter’s son_. “I am sure you have corresponded with his father, Henry Laurens, who presently serves in the Congress.” _That explained the vague familiarity of his name_. “He is joining our family as an aide. I have assigned him to supplement your translation work, as he also knows the French tongue.” _Of course he did. He was probably coddled into it at the knee of some itinerant tutor while his slaves looked on._

“I’m sure I have no need of an _assistant_ , sir,” Hamilton said, hoping that Washington caught his objecting tone, “but of course I will endeavor to introduce Mr. Laurens to the family life.”

He turned to offer a haughty introduction—he was, after all, holding a top position entirely on his own merits rather than high family connections—but was startled for a moment that his imagination had apparently overtaken him.

Oh. Oh, no, this was no hallucination. This was a divine trick being played on him, because John Laurens looked exactly like the lover he had abandoned in a side street in panic.

Hamilton could not decide whether Providence was encouraging or punishing him, but this was certainly an opportunity to be seized.

They exchanged curt pleasantries in Washington’s office before reentering the chaos of the aides’ workroom. Alexander dutifully passed Laurens a sheaf of papers and directed him to the stores of quills and ink. There was no reason they could not play the part of cordial new colleagues… even if Hamilton could feel himself burning with rash declarations of love that must, for all their sakes, remain quelled.

Other things, though, ought to be addressed. After minutes of vain wrestling with his conscience, Alexander gave up writing and leaned toward his companion.

“ _You’re_ John Laurens?!”

“You’re _Alexander Hamilton_?!”

He was taken aback by the man’s indignance. “Of course I’m Alexander Hamilton, you had no reason to believe otherwise—I suppose—but you gave no indication that you were in the service despite extensive discussion on the topic of military intervention in domestic matters—”

He stopped talking abruptly when Laurens started to laugh.

“Mr. Hamilton, regardless of certain encounters, we must be able to work together to promote the efficient management of this war,” he said. “Nonsensical bickering ought to be entirely set aside in favor of His Excellency’s orders.”

Well, that was an attitude Hamilton could support, and quite unexpected from the son of a Congressman and planter. Then again, he had only found positive traits in this man during their previous conversation. He nodded his concurrence.

“Very well, Mr. Laurens.” _Laurens_. It was good to have a name to match the face. The _stunning_ face that he was privileged to see now every day, thanks to some celestial sympathy. “Do not, however, labor under the impression that we will not further discuss, as you say, certain encounters. I recall that you were quite intent on continuing that…” _What word had he used?_ “Intercourse.”

Alexander was gratified to see that delicate blush return to the other man’s face. He reluctantly returned to work, awed by the sense that this was a predestined meeting.


	3. Chapter 3

Hamilton was buoyant in Laurens’ presence. Each translation and transcription seemed to take only a moment’s time, ink flowing light, merely because _John_ was there. By the time Tilghman dragged him off to supper, Alexander thought he might be whispering the man’s name with every breath.

The workroom slowly cleared as the other men wandered away to food, drink, and bed. He lit a candle when the dimness of evening and John’s absence had nearly overtaken his vision, but rather than take up the next letter, he reached for a fresh sheet of paper and let his feverish thoughts control the quill.

 _My dearest John_ , he wrote,

_We have been acquainted mere hours and yet I feel I know your soul throughout the depth of my own. You exemplify grace in every line of your Body and Mind. With each moment that passes I lament the absence of your tender lips. O when will Divine Providence grant my fervent prayer to know that embrace again? I hope the delay is not extensive, for my Dear John, the worship I dream of bestowing upon your person would certainly qualify as exaltation to the Heavens and beloved by God Himself. _

“Mr. Hamilton, I’ve brought you some supper—”

Alexander would swear that his flesh detached from his bones for a fraction of a second. In his shock he toppled an inkwell and Laurens jumped to his aid, prompting Hamilton to hurriedly crumple and hide the passionate note. Waving away the man’s apologies, Hamilton tried to gruffly return to work but was stymied by Laurens’ unexpected determination to convince him to eat.

“You shall not waste away under my watch, Hamilton,” he insisted. “Our war demands vigorous bodies in service. We would be sorely put upon should we lose one of our greatest minds—and imagine the embarrassment should you fall to hunger in headquarters rather than under enemy fire.” On the contrary, Alexander thought such sacrifice might be lauded. Laurens ought to understand that; according to Harrison, who had the news from another friend, this man had done everything recklessly brave that could be mustered in the last action.

Alexander tried not to sag in his chair as he wolfed down the lukewarm supper. Their conversation was not probing, which was fortunate for Alexander, who remained quite preoccupied with the elegant curves of Laurens’ mouth as he talked. He had just resigned himself to yet another night of writing and pining and was gathering his materials when Laurens brushed his hand.

A shiver of anticipation shot through him. Hamilton feared for a moment that he had imagined the touch, as Laurens remained silent, but no, the skin still tingled from contact. Alexander sent up a prayer of thanks as he met the other man’s slightly astonished gaze, his green eyes wide.

“Mr. Laurens, have you an alternative occupation to propose?”

His vision was dominated by John’s softly parted lips before he dove across the table into a rough kiss. The sensation was so heavenly that Alexander could not help but moan. Laurens tasted even more exquisite without the bitterness of liquor on his breath and clouding Alexander’s perception. He was warm and sultry, a safe haven untouched by regret.

His gentle fingers were suddenly caressing Alexander’s cheek and Hamilton was entranced. What bliss, to know the tenderness of this brave soldier’s hands! These hands that would move men and mountains given the chance, these hands that sprawled so elegantly at their master’s command, these hands that Alexander longed to cradle between his own and kiss and kiss and kiss.

Overwhelmed with passion, Hamilton sprinted awkwardly to the other side of the table, knocking Laurens back into his chair. Even a moment separated was too long—to make up for lost time and squandered feeling, Alexander laced his fingers into John’s hair and reconnected their lips. His every sense was heightened tenfold. He was on the verge of composing an ode to the soft curls he held, to the capable hands now gripping his ass as if to claim it. The man beneath him began tracing sweet kisses down his jaw.

Alexander’s ecstasy was marred by the unexpected cessation of his lover’s attentions. He pouted, knowing how childish the gesture was but seemingly unable to care, and ground his hips lightly against John’s in an attempt to rekindle the contact. Begging was not beneath him in this moment: “Laurens, _please_.”

John moved toward him again with a delightful little smile, but Alexander had remembered in that split second that they were by no means obliged to continue these amorous explorations in such a public space.

Washington’s voice echoed through his mind. _He will be lodged with you_.

He could not resist running his teeth delicately across the sensitive skin of John’s ear before asking, “Shall we remove ourselves to our quarters?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure hope this makes even a single iota of sense, I am honestly so tired right now I can't even tell, I'm having flashbacks to my thesis (pretty sure there's no yelling about language policy in this chapter but there's a chance I've reverted, who knows) (wait speaking of that I posted my headcanons about the Hamsquad as a linguist AU because I'm an unbelievable nerd, you can find it here: http://hydraxx.tumblr.com/post/142086440589/alexanderssecretboyfriend-replied-to-your-post)
> 
> Anyway, here, have this thing, go wild, next update oughta be longer
> 
> Oh and if certain angsty scenes of impression/expression tore you to shreds like they did me, boy do I ever have a painfest in the works for you
> 
> Love y'all
> 
> UPDATE: Chloe won this chapter's guessing game.


	4. Chapter 4

Climbing the stairs proved a dangerous affair when Hamilton’s mind was so thoroughly occupied with the feeling of John’s rough palm under his fingers. Images of those hands at work flashed before his eyes with every blink: writing a letter, directing a charge, holding Alexander down and drawing the very life out of him. Miraculously, Hamilton only stumbled twice by the time they reached the landing. They made it down the corridor without incident.

Alexander paused at their room, all but vibrating with erotic excitement, and turned to John.

“Shall we?”

His patience barely held long enough for them both to get inside before he was crowding Laurens against the door and reaching for a kiss. He clutched at John’s coat, relishing the hard muscle that revealed itself through the wool. No, no, why should he settle for this mere shadow of his lover’s body when the true form lay only a few layers away? In moments the coat was off, the waistcoat was off, and he had shucked his own in the process. John was fumbling with his neck cloth but Alexander didn’t care, just kept taking and taking and taking from his lips until the delicate underside of his jaw proved more enticing.

The shift of cotton against smooth skin was so delectably satisfying that Alexander’s hips bucked without his willing them to. A deep groan from John reverberated to the base of his spine, throwing ancillary shivers of pleasure into every limb that then roared back to the contact point of John’s hands on Alexander’s ass. He could never be close enough to this man.

Hamilton vaguely registered a change in position but was far too occupied with his lover’s alluring taste on his tongue. His earthy flavor, a lingering scent of smoke—Alexander would happily melt into the essence of John Laurens.

Without warning he was toppling backward. He landed with a soft thump and was immediately overcome by the sight of that virile inamorato towering above the bed. John’s shirt was damp with sweat and clung deliciously to his muscled frame, while a dusting of freckles climbed from the collar to his flushed cheeks. Alexander caught the lustful glint in his green eyes. _You’re beautiful_ , he wanted to say. _I would drown myself in your smile, and I don’t drown easily_.

If he was going to drown in Laurens, then by God he wanted to dive right into the depths. He grew harder just pondering the chaos of bodies entwined in touch and taste and thrust shallowly off the bed, yearning for some relief.

John finally approached, throwing them both into a tumultuous embrace. Hamilton hummed appreciation as he explored the man’s body. He was wrapped with strength, broad planes diligently honed, every inch quivering under tight control. Alexander smirked. He took that control as a personal challenge.

His mouth wandered, marking bare flesh with shining kisses and sharp bruises. He slipped his fingers into John’s breeches, stroking the silky skin and coarse hair there but teasingly avoiding his cock. A broken groan tumbled from Laurens’ lips. Alexander would have kissed him again to steal the sound for himself, but he concentrated on laying blooming blemishes along the man’s collarbones and smiled to himself at the knowledge that he’d caused that. Learning to take his lover apart would be a fascinating study.

Such intense focus occupied him until warm caresses inched lower on his own body. He squirmed happily under the touch, but maintained enough lucidity to close the final brief distance between his hand and John’s cock.

The man’s reaction was astoundingly gratifying. He moaned wantonly as Hamilton manually examined his form, driving his hips forward. Alexander felt his own erection straining against the fabric of his breeches when John messily took his lips again. Lightly, he rubbed the bluntness of his thumb against John’s head, smearing the fluid already accumulated there. The man would be begging, Alexander supposed, if he could form coherent words. It was a tantalizing sight to have rendered a soldier powerless.

Laurens was bright-eyed when he gazed again at Alexander. Individual curls traced the outline of his open face, twisting delicately out of their confining ribbon. He reached out one hand to aid their escape. Hamilton nearly missed the expression of puckish glee that flashed across his lover’s features, so absorbed was he in admiration, but the quick grasp on his cock would not be ignored.

Alexander nearly cried aloud at the sudden contact, using one hand to stifle himself. Laurens never relented; his firm strokes worked Hamilton into a frenzy of lust and desperation before he recovered enough to reciprocate. Their mutual efforts gradually lost precision, Alexander whimpering into John’s mouth and trying to fend off his rapidly rising release.

The quiver of orgasm tingled through his extremities, then rushed his whole body and mind. Some high wailing forced its way out of his constricted throat. Hamilton trembled in Laurens’ embrace, realizing through the fog of climax that he must have finished his lover.

They lay panting and lazily touching. Alexander used the opportunity to form a closer acquaintance with John’s torso and skimmed inquisitive fingers over the sinews there. He was deliciously well built. What other talents might be discovered in that exquisite body in the future? Hamilton planned to be an intrepid explorer.

After long moments, Alexander reluctantly peeled himself from his lover and tidied his uniform. There was still work to be done downstairs. Hamilton had always abhorred overindulgence in rest during times of crisis; he could busy himself with writing for several hours yet before exhaustion necessitated sleep.

Laurens seemed disturbed by his intent. “Dear Hamilton, you hardly need to hasten away,” he said. “This is your room, after all—I am merely a late-arriving bunkmate.”

Alexander could only be charmed by the man’s sweet conscience. “I ought to douse the lights in the workroom,” he offered, then added, “Do not trouble yourself to await my return.” It would not do to riddle Laurens with guilt on his first day with the family. Many long nights awaited them.

“If you insist, sir,” he returned with a frown.

Hamilton restrained himself from leaning down to kiss away that sour expression and moved toward the door. “Keep the bed,” he said. “I can lay down my bedroll. I rarely make use of these quarters in any case.” The sacrifice of a real bed was negligible given Hamilton’s tendency to sleep where he worked, willingly or not. Laurens deserved the comfort.

He glanced back from the doorway before turning down the corridor. A curiously melancholy air had descended on his lover’s face. Hamilton dismissed it as an odd effect of amorous exertions; he knew from not insignificant experience that no two people reacted identically.

Trudging down the stairs to the workroom, Alexander carefully considered the flutterings of his heart. He was used to the sentimental attachments that surfaced following a tryst, but they took on an unusual intensity this evening. Was it the joy of encountering a lover previously lost? The exhilaration of engaging in such acts with a compatriot? The fear of forming too close a bond when everything might be compromised by the ongoing war?

Something about the feeling nagged at him. His thoughts wandered as he returned to the worktable and prepared a new quill and paper. He had been with men before, of course—pretty collegians, rough merchants, the sort of people that frequented city taverns and never spoke of their nights. Lust was a fact of Hamilton’s world and he was unscrupulous about who sated it, but none of those had tugged at his core the way Laurens did now.

There were ladies, though. Charming girls wormed their way into Hamilton’s mind until he was helpless in their grasp, helpless as he had been earlier, writing a secret letter to John.

Infatuation?

Love.

He was in love with John Laurens. _Was it possible for a man to love another man as a woman?_ he wondered without urgency. _Surely the Greeks had some romantic dimension to those essential relationships._

Perhaps, then, it could be love indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who can spot the Plato reference? You just know Hamilton would be referencing ancient philosophers during sex.


	5. Chapter 5

As per habit, Hamilton was awoken early the next morning crumpled over the worktable with a dry quill in his hand. It was a moment before he stirred enough to recognize what had interrupted his slumber: General Washington, frowning from above.

“Mr. Hamilton,” the man said gravely. “While I appreciate your dedication to the cause, I have need of your talents elsewhere. Pray rise and attend.”

Hamilton scrambled to his feet and tried to straighten his rumpled uniform. From his quick survey it seemed no more wrinkled than usual after sleeping in the office; any additional disorder from its rough treatment the night before was not enough to rouse suspicion. Washington gave him a critical look anyway.

“I have confidential orders that must be carried directly to General Sullivan. Make yourself presentable and come to my office before the next hour.” Hamilton bowed acknowledgment.

He slipped into the bedroom carefully so as not to disturb Laurens as he changed, cleaned his teeth, and scrubbed his face. The other man slept peacefully. Although he was not prone to prying, Alexander could not help but admire the fine tableau: John curled innocently across the bed, blanket tangled between his legs, one arm tucked beneath the pillow while the other reached into the empty mattress space before him. The dawn light gently illuminated his delicate brown skin and dark, wild curls. Full eyelashes brushing the man’s freckled cheeks roused Hamilton’s envy—why should it not be his lips in their place?—but he found enough contentment in merely gazing upon his lover’s form.

Reluctance slowed his steps toward Washington’s office. As much as he enjoyed the freedom of movement and tinge of danger that colored courier errands, Alexander would much rather spend the day in John’s company. There was still so much he did not know about the man and so much he wanted to learn.

He paused at the worktable on his way out to scribble an explanatory note, glancing over the previous day’s work as he readied pen and paper. John’s translations were quite good, even better than Tilghman’s, perhaps from having used the language during formal study as he’d mentioned the night before. It was a relief to know that he finally had a translation partner whose work he would not have to correct.

 _I hope Sir that you were not so much affected by your evening as to render you useless to His Excellency the Genl, who in his wisdom has dispatchd me on an errand very urgent, and left you unattended to complete the work which we began in earnest yesterday. In studying_ votre traduction _I am pleased with the quality, and give leave for you to continue in that stile._

“Hamilton!” Washington bellowed. “Have I not thoroughly impressed upon you the urgency of the orders you bear?” Alexander winced.

_Now I must dash to the Genls. will. I have the Honour to be Your Obedt Servt_

_A Hamilton_

 

* * *

 

Sullivan’s camp lay two hours’ ride from headquarters. Hamilton passed through woods that quickly grew warm under the late summer sun, keeping one ear cocked for the sound of boots among the rustling leaves. The continental army controlled this area, but one could never be too wary of scouts and spies.

He found the general’s command tent and dashed inside as a rainstorm broke over camp. His leather bag had preserved the documents he carried, which he handed over before relating more delicate matters that could not be entrusted to the page. While Sullivan consulted his officers, Hamilton joined the aides in creating the requisite transcriptions of Washington’s orders to be forwarded to lower-level commanders.

At the lunch hour, Sullivan invited Hamilton to share his table. Alexander gladly accepted. Sullivan was a good man and a competent commander, which was more than Hamilton thought could be said for most of the soldiers in the field. They spoke little of the plans that had been delivered, respecting one another’s obligations to confidentiality, and conversation gradually turned to their compatriots.

“Have you met this Laurens boy?” Sullivan asked as Alexander took a bite of bread. “Eldest son of the congressman, I believe, and educated in Europe for the last several years. I heard that His Excellency hired him on after Brandywine.”

Hamilton carefully schooled his affect to reflect professional detachment. “Yes, sir,” he said. “He arrived only yesterday, but we have worked closely already on some correspondence.”

“What is your assessment of his abilities?”

“A talented young man,” Hamilton replied, flattered to have his opinion solicited. “Fluent in French, quite intelligent, amiable, and a good soldier by all accounts. Certainly an asset to His Excellency’s staff.” _Although his more alluring assets are entirely wasted on the military._

Sullivan nodded his concurrence and moved on to other subjects.

 

* * *

 

After the meal, Hamilton rode out again on further courier errands. Several militias were quartered between headquarters and Sullivan’s camp; he delivered documents to the commanders of each and received their letters to General Washington. The return trip took hours longer than his initial ride, and the sun was waning just above the horizon when he reached the last militia commander.

It was well after dark when Hamilton arrived back at Washington’s headquarters. New sheafs of paper lay at his desk: more letters, with notes from His Excellency on what the responses should contain. He set to work.

Only a few hours had passed before the din of drunken soldiers engulfed the office. Nearly all the aides staggered in, conversing in laughter and curses until they disappeared upstairs. Most shouted greetings and goodnights in Hamilton’s direction. He waved them away.

One man lingered— _John_. Laurens fell into his chair and slid his hands toward Alexander, framing the page with his splayed fingers. Hamilton found the spectacle amusing but was not yet in the mood to indulge his lover. Lifted eyebrows offered the barest acknowledgment of John’s antics as Hamilton continued to write.

Laurens made a charmingly indignant noise.

“Hamilton, surely you have accomplished more than enough for the day,” he said. “And I hear from our esteemed colleagues that you have the atrocious habit of sleeping at your desk like a shop clerk rather than enjoying the refined comforts of bed.” _I_ am _a shop clerk, John, hadn’t you heard?_ “I will not stand for such nonsense.”

The sentiment was sweet if daft. Alexander tried to hide his pleased grin at the man’s concern.

In the silent moments following, Hamilton knew that Laurens was biding his time. He took matters into his own hands when he set aside his work and stared directly into John’s shining eyes.

“Mr. Laurens,” he said softly, “are you trying to tempt me into bed?”

The dazzling smile that lit John’s face set Alexander’s heart stuttering. What could possibly have caused this beautiful man to walk into his life?

Hamilton watched his lips intently as they formed the words, “That is entirely up to you.”

He was stunned by the erotic force behind that simple sentence and by John’s lingering walk toward the staircase. _Damn that coat!_ He would soon have the contours of his lover’s body revealed. Alexander hurriedly shuffled away his materials and tripped after Laurens like a hapless puppy on a lead.

The two stumbled up to their room and into bed, clumsily pulling off garments. Hamilton climbed into John’s lap to gain a better angle. Their kisses were pointed and demanding, each trying to draw more out of the other. Laurens let his head fall to the mattress for a moment. Alexander was breathless at the sight of him: lush curls framing a blushing face, eyes glittering, freckles forming dizzying patterns around his gasping mouth. He was the picture of bewitching lust and Hamilton was helplessly under his spell.

“My dear Laurens,” he breathed, “has anyone told you how beautiful you are in this state?” He dove for the man’s enticing throat without waiting for an answer.

He could feel the pulse leaping beneath his lips, an ironic reminder of the exuberance of life amidst actions that could have them both hanged. Alexander latched on to that vitality, letting the warmth saturate him and leaving bright bruises in his wake. He would gladly give Laurens anything—everything—his body and soul, heart and mind, life and love alike, if only to keep him in his arms and under his lips. _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , he wanted to say.

John retaliated at the next opportunity, pinning Alexander to the bed and laying rich kisses on his eager mouth. Hamilton glowed under his lover’s attentions. Every touch ignited a new flame that smoldered into embers until Alexander felt his whole body alight with passion.

He prayed with every gasp that John might return his affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget about guessing game!
> 
> I'll do my best to work on the next chapter this weekend, but I've got 2 full days of dress rehearsals so I can't make any promises.
> 
> UPDATE: Turq8 won this chapter's guessing game.


	6. Chapter 6

Hamilton’s worries multiplied like rabbits the moment he learned that another battle was imminent, likely before the continentals settled into winter encampments. His life and John’s became a whirlwind of letters and lists and errands. They sought consolation in one another as often as possible. Hamilton feared that his ardor would betray his true emotions, but neither Laurens nor their fellow aides seemed to suspect his motives.

Under cover of close friendship they spent every moment side by side. Hamilton probed the limits of public affection with Laurens as an eager partner; they sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the tavern, hands brushing over thighs, and if they drew a little too close in their drunken swaying no one said a word. It was in these moments that Hamilton indulged his proclivity for rhetoric, masking his romantic affections with the pretty words of a classical statesman. _Newborn gods of the republic_ , he said they’d be, and some small part of him believed it.

On certain occasions, however, Hamilton’s reckless nature overcame him spectacularly. He and Laurens were in a closed meeting with General Washington one day when he turned to John and said, almost without thinking, “ _Je veux te sentir sous mes lèvres_.”

John was aghast, and rightfully so. In the split second before he formed his response, Alexander feared that they would be outed then and there by the wrath of God, but then his lover said, “ _Monsieur, et-il approprié de parler comme ça en présence de notre supérieur?_ ”

“ _D’accord, mon chou_ ,” he acquiesced, and turned to his blessedly monolingual commander to offer an apology and a lie.

Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins when John dragged him behind an outlying shed that afternoon. Hamilton would not listen to any of his lover’s scolding. He pinned Laurens to the rough-hewn wood and covered his mouth in a kiss, sliding one hand under the uniform coat and into his breeches. John groaned when Alexander took his cock in hand. There was no mercy in the hard strokes, only a desperate outpouring of lust that Hamilton _needed_ to satisfy. He knelt before his lover.

Laurens was panting soon after Alexander broke the kiss, head thrown back against the wall. He bit one fist in preparation when Hamilton paused with lips parted at the head of his cock. Alexander felt the other hand seize his hair, not out of violence but in search of some stability. He smirked as he took John’s cock into his mouth.

The muffled cry that escaped his lover urged Alexander to a steady rhythm, head bobbing to accommodate John’s length. He pushed away the soreness that crept into his jaw and focused rather on the salty taste of the leaking cock on his tongue, the choking fullness, the throes of ecstasy written across his lover’s face. John squeezed his eyes shut as his body tensed under Alexander’s fingers.

Hamilton prepared himself for the release but had to fight reflexes to take every drop. He gripped John’s hips tightly enough to feel the crest of bone through layers of wool and cotton as he swallowed, throat fluttering. When he disengaged, Alexander met the other man’s unfocused eyes and shot him a grin that he knew was entirely too smug.

Laurens was still trembling as Hamilton delicately wiped his mouth.

“ _Tu es tellement délicieux_ ,” he whispered, punctuated the phrase with a kiss, and went about his day.

 

* * *

 

It was not long after that encounter when Hamilton was again sent to confer with Sullivan. He spent all day at that camp clarifying orders and taking notes and finally rode back to headquarters with his head buzzing. His stumbling walk to the bedroom he shared with Laurens was made a little easier by the knowledge that his lover would soon be close again.

The sound of the door opening barely registered in his overworked mind. He undressed in the dark and fell into bed.

Comforting weight pressed into his side—John’s arm. He sighed happily at the contact, already tumbling fast into heavy sleep. Laurens’ lips brushed his forehead; “Sleep, Alexander,” was a fading breath on the rushing winds of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> Je veux te sentir sous mes lèvres: I want to feel you under my lips.  
> Monsieur, est-il approprié de parler comme ça en présence de notre supérieur?: Sir, is it appropriate to speak like this before our superior?  
> D'accord, mon chou: Alright, darling.  
> Tu es tellement délicieux: You are so delicious.
> 
> I have way too much fun mocking Washington for not knowing French. Sue me. He's the one who got himself blamed for the French and Indian War because of it. ([hermione granger voice] what. an. idiot.)
> 
> Don't forget, if you have requests you can hit me up at hydraxx.tumblr.com/ask! I love side projects.


	7. Chapter 7

At such an uncertain stage of the war, Alexander was gratified to discover how accurately he’d assessed John’s abilities to General Sullivan. The man was sharp and adapted quickly to Hamilton’s own working style. Within a few short weeks they conveyed requests with meaningful glances, passed off papers for review without breaking the stride of writing, and flawlessly presented one another’s arguments to other officers.

Despite such support, Hamilton felt the weight of the war effort upon his shoulders. Washington relied ever more on his compositional intuition and he felt obligated to rise above his station, petitioning Congress for funds, supplies, and troops while managing fragile diplomatic relations. He wrote often to the convalescing Marquis de Lafayette to seek advice on how best to deal with their French allies.

The man wounded at Brandywine would soon return to the field and Alexander eagerly awaited him. They had a perfect affinity in their revolutionary fervor. Hamilton suspected that the Marquis would be a welcome addition to the partnership with Laurens, given his quick tactical mind and surprising humility. Privately, he also hoped to confide his feelings for John.

In the meantime the pair continued in everything together. Their worktable was always covered with constantly shifting piles of correspondence; the bed was a little more crowded for accommodating two, but Hamilton’s heart swelled every time he lay down with his lover.

Washington often sent them out to treat with irascible officers in other camps. Hamilton used these opportunities to preserve the romance of spontaneous flirtation in spite of worsening morale. During their journey back to headquarters just before Lafayette’s arrival, Alexander realized that the secluded woods surrounding them provided perfect cover for a brief embrace. He slowed his horse and signaled John to follow.

Dismounting, he said, “John, do you recall the first night we met?” It was a whirlwind of drunken connection, but Alexander knew he would never forget it.

His lover’s response was laced with amusement. “Of course, dear boy. You were quite conversational and quite forward.”

“I admit you took me by surprise in the end,” Hamilton said with a smile. That kiss had been his first taste of John’s reckless nature, and oh, did he want to savor it again.

“What is this about, Alexander?”

He answered with actions rather than words, throwing his arms around his lover’s neck and letting their mouths sweetly collide. Strong arms gripped him. Alexander was lost in the sensation of secure enclosure, protected from all foes by his fierce lover. In deepening the kiss he propelled Laurens backward against the wide bole of a tree, relishing the impact of muscle and bone, flushed with exhilaration at such an open display. John’s gentle fingers swept along his face. His head was tilting up, back, allowing his lover greater access, and he moaned when John’s tongue found his pulse.

His unfocused eyes registered the odd color of the sky through tangled branches. Hamilton pulled away, scowling.

“It draws late,” he sighed. He returned to his mount and climbed into the saddle. “Washington wants us for that meeting, remember?”

The groan that slipped from Laurens’ lips as he mounted his horse tugged at Alexander’s heart.

“I suppose there will be no enticing you to disobey orders and ravish me instead?”

Hamilton swallowed hard to suppress a feral reaction to those words. “Unfortunately, dear Laurens, His Excellency still outranks you. Come.”

 

* * *

 

Both men were delighted to be reunited with their French friend. The three fell in easily together. Their rapid bilingual conversations ranged far into the night and often continued over work, much to Washington’s chagrin. They dominated tavern conversation, drawing in soldiers and citizens alike to debate the merits of American institutions, although the Marquis was unanimously shouted down when he dared to criticize the quality of the drink.

In private, Lafayette’s candid temperament made him just as reliable a confidant as Hamilton had hoped. He listened sympathetically while Alexander rambled, slipping in and out of languages, praising every thing about John and bemoaning his own inability to act.

“What if he knows?” Hamilton hissed one night. “I am tragically unskilled at concealing my emotions, Lafayette, and what if he has sounded me out and found me lacking?”

“Then your heart is broken, and you mend it with another,” the Marquis answered. “There are many pretty girls who would not mind. You are handsome enough.”

Alexander groaned dramatically and dropped into a chair next to Lafayette’s desk to distract him from the letter he was writing to his wife. The man quirked one dark eyebrow.

“I would sooner die,” Hamilton said gravely after a moment of reflection. “There could be no lady so worthy of affection as Laurens. Without love, all that can be had is glory, and that is easy enough to seek on a battlefield.”

That seemed to rouse concern. “ _Mon ami_ , I will never discourage you from honorable action,” Lafayette said, setting down his quill, “but do not abandon hope so easily. Give our friend time.”

 

* * *

 

_Time_ , Hamilton mused later as he made his way to bed—to John. _There is little time to spare in the midst of a war. My name will never know glory if I live as an unsung melody._

He threw himself into work and study with renewed determination, staunchly ignoring the way his gut twisted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title for this chapter: How Many References Can Emily Stuff Into Her Writing


	8. Chapter 8

Hamilton’s days and nights blurred until Washington and Laurens were the only distinguishing figures in a hurricane of writing. The other aide prodded him to eat and sleep with little success; he felt bound to carry out every duty and more at his commander’s request, consequences to his health be damned. He read reports while riding between headquarters and the outlying camps, composed letters on every available sheet of paper, swiped unattended ink bottles, and cursed daily over broken quills. The work never let up.

In the rare moments he wasn’t writing, Alexander was arguing. Lafayette’s presence and protection gave him greater freedom to comment on tactics, so he took every opportunity to make his opinion known. Washington ejected him from meetings on more than one occasion. His most insistent line pertained to the distribution of aides-de-camp on the battlefield. He knew that Washington intended to assign Laurens to another general, but Alexander’s intense fear of loss led him to hotly debate that decision even despite threats of disciplinary action. If John were to fall, Alexander would go down at his side without a second thought.

Indeed it seemed likely that the continentals would lose many. Hamilton’s constant poring over documentation revealed an alarming trend toward desertion in the militias and an utter lack of standard preparation. He brought his findings to the general and was met with resignation.

“It is too late to remedy this, Mr. Hamilton,” Washington told him. “Our only hope in this action is to fight valiantly and with fierceness. When the season changes perhaps we can improve the state of our army, but for the moment I am working with what little I am given.”

Alexander was unsatisfied with this reply but refrained momentarily from further pestering his commander.

 

* * *

 

He did not realize until the night before the battle that he might not suffer apprehension alone. Laurens stiffened at his assignment to Sullivan’s command, and although he said nothing, Hamilton could tell that protests bubbled just beneath the placid warrior’s surface. Alexander’s heart broke to watch his lover in the throes of the same despair he himself only barely subdued.

_Separated._

Premonitions of doom pounded in Hamilton’s ears with every step behind John as he followed him up to their room.

_We will die alone. Separated. Abandoned on an anonymous battlefield._

_What if he falls and I remain?_

The click of the door had an ominous finality.

“John. Are you alright?”

The man’s stubbornly diverted gaze spoke more than he. “I am quite well, Ham.”

_Oh, John._ “You know that I would do anything in my power to fight alongside you were it possible,” Alexander said gently, fighting the tremor that threatened to creep into his voice. “The general’s orders cannot be influenced in matters such as this. Believe me, I have tried.” _Oh, my God, have I tried._

“Alexander, please,” Laurens said. His eyes shone wet in the candlelight as he turned and Hamilton’s gut wrenched. If this indomitable soldier quailed at the future before them, what chance did poor Alexander stand?

John’s whisper was almost inaudible, but the choked _please_ sent Hamilton hurtling into his lover’s arms. He half intended to physically hold Laurens there against orders and prevent him from going to Sullivan, from _leaving_ , but his concentration was broken when John drew him into an unsteady kiss.

Alexander clenched fists into John’s coat, trying to pull him closer, to somehow convince him through the conduit of their embrace that everything would be alright.

Too soon, Laurens broke the kiss he’d initiated. Hamilton wished he could hide the emotion coursing through him, but he found himself unable to do anything but stare at his lover and pretend he didn’t see the tears gathering in his eyes. He was so absorbed in the way the light danced across John’s face that his comprehension stumbled when the man said, “I wish always to be by your side. In battle, yes, but—always.”

“What?”

_Was that—a confession?_

John’s face fell.

“I must go.” He turned before Alexander could reach out as he had that first night they met, desperate to return the sentiment whether it be platonic or romantic. “General Sullivan awaits me. God grant you good fortune on the field.”

“John—” _Don’t go, I love you,_ I love you _—_

“The eyes of history are on us, Alexander.”

The cold determination written on Laurens’ face in his last glance left Alexander helpless.

 

* * *

 

In his lover’s absence, Hamilton could only turn to the pen for catharsis. He stared after John for long moments before stumbling to the desk and pouring himself into a letter.

_My Dear Laurens, Your hasty retreat leaves me cold and our sentiments unaired. Had you paused a moment more you would have known reciprocation from my lips and every part. There is none so dear to me as you; you have stolen into my sensibilities and planted what I thought a barren field._  
_The thought occurs to me that if tomorrow goes ill you may never have these words from my person. Should these events befall us I hope to God that I am not the one left to face the world alone, for even at this early date of acquaintance I feel our Souls bonded too close to suffer separation unwounded. If I perish let these words stand testament to my deep Affection for you dear Laurens. Remember me as an eternal friend.  
_ _Yours_

_Alexander Hamilton_

He folded this missive with numb fingers and scrawled Laurens’ name upon the face, suddenly stricken with dread that he would never deliver its contents. Returning to the workroom downstairs seemed the best course of action for the moment. Hamilton knew that a certain exhaustion would give way to unparalleled vigor and he intended to use that state to its best effect.

Perhaps Lafayette could offer some consolation in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter should be up later this week, but please have patience - I'm in the final days of prep for a ballet and real life has to take precedence. (Real life in this case being an insane amount of sewing.)


	9. Chapter 9

A red tide loomed across the field, visible even through morning mist. Hamilton checked his weapons again simply to keep his hands busy: sword sheathed at his side, bayonet affixed to the musket. The metal was cool against his nervously flushed skin.

“ _Vous êtes prêt, no?_ ” Lafayette, mounted, appeared next to him. The Marquis cut a proud figure in his major general’s uniform; the early sunlight glinted off his buttons and set his brown skin glowing.

Alexander tried to smile at his friend, but John’s absence—the fact that he might have kissed that sweet face for the last time—weighed heavy on his heart. “ _Oui, je suis prêt_.”

Men shifted in their formation all about them. A slight disturbance announced another arrival: General Washington, with Tilghman close behind. The commander turned to survey the ranks as his aide joined Hamilton.

“Exhilarating to be looking at something other than paper, isn’t it?” Tilghman said. Hamilton concurred with a tilt of his head. “We are lesser without Mr. Laurens’ talents,” the man continued. “It is said he was most animated on the field at Brandywine.”

“Would that I had seen,” Alexander laughed. “He is animated enough without the incentive of a redcoat prize.”

“Recklessly brave,” Lafayette added. “I saw him there. It is miraculous that he was not more gravely wounded.”

Tilghman looked pleased at this observation. “Well, we must follow his example. What have we to lose?”

Fortunately, the general spoke at that moment and saved Hamilton from answering.

“Gentlemen! Defenders of America,” he began. “Every day we face threats to the dignity of our common country, but none compels our basest instincts like engagement with a tangible enemy. I commend your courage in reaching this field and ask that you carry it through to the end of the day. The hopes of this nation rest with you.”

A disorganized cheer rose from the troops. Hamilton joined in as an afterthought, wondering whether Laurens could hear their noise.

 

* * *

 

Gunfire echoed in Hamilton’s ears. Swords and bayonets flashed around him through the smoke of battle. Lafayette was still roaring at his side; Tilghman had been dispatched to bring Sullivan new information.

With every movement, Alexander silently chanted John’s name as a desperate plea, a prayer to keep him safe and to be reunited. A redcoat fell under his blade—one more that could never harm his Laurens.

A path opened before Lafayette. The Marquis charged toward the next cluster of British soldiers, leaving Hamilton to catch his breath. He knelt quickly, set his gun aside, and reached for his canteen, glancing around for signs of approaching enemies. His hands shook so badly that water soaked his neck cloth as he drank.

Men still fought on every side. Their original formations were entirely lost in the heat of close battle; there was no telling where Laurens might be. Alexander was half hopeful that his love might appear beside him before the end—but no, he must have faith in a reunion after the fighting was done. The letter he’d written the night before burned in his coat over his heart: _let these words stand testament to my deep Affection…_

The memory of John’s stony face as he walked away sent lead flooding into Hamilton’s limbs, then fire. He snatched his musket from the ground and leapt after Lafayette, shouting—

His skull jarred suddenly and the world went dark.

 

* * *

 

By the time Hamilton regained consciousness, the field was eerily quiet despite the echoing groans of the injured and dying. Shreds of smoke floated above still bodies. Alexander blinked the fog from his eyes and tried to focus.

Soreness and fatigue, held off by the adrenaline of combat, had set in while he lay senseless. He struggled to lift one hand to his face and wipe away the blood and sweat that trickled across his brow. The general probably needed him, but _God_ , he was so tired. The cause would not disintegrate if he lay here a moment more.

Only wisps of cloud marred the clear sky above. Fiery hues flashed in his peripheral vision; although his head pounded too much to move at the moment, Hamilton supposed he was near the woods.

_Where was John?_

A new paralysis seized him when he realized that Laurens could be anywhere in any state—injured, dead, captive… or perhaps, miraculously, alive and unharmed. He could only find out himself.

His rejuvenation was not as complete as he might have hoped. Every muscle screamed in protest as he dragged his head from the ground, vision swimming momentarily. He propped one elbow beneath himself, then the other, and lurched forward into a seated position. His surroundings spun briefly.

Hamilton hung his head for a few moments, panting with the effort of getting upright. His canteen was nearly empty, but he drew the last few drops onto a parched tongue before considering the next step toward reuniting with his Laurens. One hand drifted to the letter tucked over his breast for whatever strength it might imbue.

_He must know. From me._

One knee beneath him. One foot on the ground. He stood slowly, shakily.

“ _Alexander!_ ”

The sound of his lover’s voice pierced every shadow that remained in his mind. He turned to see John— _John_ —rushing toward him with relief written across every inch of his face. Alexander had no time to cherish the sight of the man before they collided.

Hamilton lurched between autumnal trees as Laurens murmured, “Oh, my God, my God, my Alexander.” His own joy bubbled to his lips in an incredulous laugh.

“John, John, John,” he whispered. He reached up to kiss every freckle on John’s face just to ensure that he was really there, warm and solid in Hamilton’s embrace with his fists clenched in his coat.

Laurens settled his arms around Alexander’s waist and pulled him close, resting their foreheads together. Simply breathing the same air was halfway to a religious experience for Hamilton. A poem on the subject was composing itself in his mind when Laurens spoke again.

“Alexander, I love you.”

For a moment, Hamilton thought he’d imagined the words, but John’s wide, slightly stunned eyes convinced him otherwise and he was suddenly lighted from within.

_I love you._

“John, of course, I love you, I love you with every bone and muscle in my body,” he cried, overcome with the elation of finally expressing the sentiments that had repeated in the back of his mind for weeks.

Laurens’ soft lips on his cheeks were every prayer answered. His hands roamed down John’s back to his ass until he could stand the suspense no more and rose up to claim his lover’s kiss.

In his fatigue he miscalculated the necessary force and sent them stumbling to the ground. The change in position was little deterrent, though, and after a moment’s pause he dove back into the embrace with a fervent kiss. John’s hands and lips on his body were a grounding force and a divine blessing.

They were on the verge of throwing themselves deeper into their entanglement when a distant voice sounded beyond the trees.

“Laurens! Hamilton!” _Someone must be looking for us._

Alexander reluctantly removed himself but promised, “We shall return to these endeavors later. I am determined now to convince you by actions rather than words alone that I love you.” He knew he’d never completely forego words, though, and his thoughts were already racing with the myriad sequels to the letter that sat above his heart.

“I love you,” John said, and oh, Alexander would never tire of that phrase and that voice and those eyes in that face. Laurens in love was a miracle to behold.

As Hamilton helped his lover to his feet, he couldn’t resist adding with a wink, “Although I hope _le petit mort_ is not long in coming, we must not let them believe us dead.”

Even the exasperation on John’s face at such teasing could propel Alexander through any number of wars, as long as his lover stayed at his side.

_This is the beginning and the end of me_ , he thought ruefully, as they stumbled together toward their compatriots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how they say to write what you know? Yeah, Alexander trying to stand up was literally me all day. Punch anyone who tells you ballet is easy.
> 
> This concludes effect/affect! There are several more works in this universe on the way; the first should be published later this week.
> 
> Thanks for sticking through this. I appreciate y'all so much. <3

**Author's Note:**

> As with impression/expression, you can guess my favorite line in each chapter to win a ficlet of your choice! Rules:
> 
> 1\. Guesses must be made in AO3 comments  
> 2\. The first person to correctly guess is that chapter's winner  
> 3\. You can only win once per work  
> 4\. Upon winning you may request anything Hamilton-related for your 100-word prize fic EXCLUDING stories about the actors (I don’t do real, currently living people)  
> 5\. All prizes are posted at hydraxx.tumblr.com/tagged/prize-fic
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @hydraxx. Bring questions, comments, requests, feels, headcanons, etc.


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